


Heavy Is the Crown

by Jaetion



Category: Mad Max Series (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Medieval, Courtly Love, F/F, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-16
Updated: 2017-05-16
Packaged: 2018-11-01 08:59:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,134
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10918581
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jaetion/pseuds/Jaetion
Summary: In a faraway kingdom, Queen Angharad begins her reign. A fill for supergirrl!





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [supergirrl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/supergirrl/gifts).



The flags were silk, beautiful as they snapped in the wind until the elements tore the thin material to threads. Industrious birds would pull those for their nests, the only part about the ostentatious display that Angharad enjoyed. Replacing them required an expensive import, labor and materials from a faraway land; gold gathered from the people living under the shadow of Joseph’s castle and then packed aboard the massive ships that squatted in the harbor. Angharad had learned as much as she could about her husband the king’s clandestine methods, collecting her information as miserly as the tax collectors in the town. The books she could write on the procedures of Joseph’s regime… And was writing, filling the small prayer books that King Joseph gifted her with facts and observations between the lines of worship.

With him gone, the library could grow without restraint. That had been her first response to his death, and not just for her: a decree for the freedom of knowledge. Dungeons opened for the dissidents to be released and preachers put in the cells in their place - Accomplishments that had needed only the correct signature on the correct parchment, but had done (and undone) much. With Joseph’s corpse cooling in the vault, his wife had already started unraveling his web.

From her window she could also see the blue of the harbor as well. Pristine from a distance, though she knew firsthand about the flotsam and jetsam that bobbed in the waves. The trash from the city as well as the settlements up the river all flowed down into the water, a collection of the discarded parts of so many lives. Angharad watched the scene with narrowed eyes, although she was too far to truly see the activities on the piers. That would change one way or another, she promised herself - once again; it was a mantra she repeated: it would change. All of it. Joseph and his minions loved their ivory tower but a gilded cage was still a cage, and Angharad had had enough of what Joseph had called luxury.

Things. The silk banners, the asinine books, the gems, jewels, crowns, gowns… Things. She was done with things.

A lick of anger at that, like a fire flaring to life. Angharad placed a hand on her heart and closed her eyes - a silent method to calm herself. After a moment she let her hand fall away; there was no need to hide it now, to cover her emotions with the layers of luxurious clothes and jewels, like a protective shell. The baby in her womb moved and she let her hand slide down to support the increasing globe of her stomach. No need to hide or deny. She hadn't bothered with the intricate braids and hand scarves so when she shook her head to dismiss all of that, all of those old ways, old traditions, her long hair was free to sway over her shoulders and down her back. 

Gathering her heavy layers of velvet, lace, and beads, Angharad lifted her skirts to walk. In her silk slippers she could not march. The soft steps - another habit that she had trained to achieve - could be replaced with solid stomps. The soldiers who were still patrolling moved with such heaviness that they movements echoed through the halls, the metal of their armor clanging over the old stones. Polished to a shine, when the light through the small windows glinted off them, they seemed to shimmer. Angharad listened as their noises grew louder, bolder, then faded back into the labyrinthian hallways - a drum beat, or the roll of thunder. A sound she would not miss.

But it did make her increase her own footsteps. 

Back down to the bedchamber. Theirs, now hers - though Angharad had made no substantial changes. Some, yes: the bars on the windows were removed before his corpse was cold, despite the disapproval of his lords. And some of the tapestries, the ones with hunting, the ones ones with battles. Those she ordered removed. The temptation to burn them had been tamped down; she had them donated instead to the church. The charitable choice, and also the one that would have infuriated Joseph. Perhaps the tapestries were decorating the rooms for destitute widows. Or better yet, were being cut for scraps.

It had only been a day and already so much had changed. She knew that Joseph’s vessels were already waiting for her appearance - A coronation was planned. Ostensibly hers, the crown on her head was merely a absurd wedding band, a prize for the next to climb into the gilded throne. His two greatest lords were fighting among themselves already, and both had already sent their marriage declarations - both equally false. 

She hated them both. They clung to their power the same way that Joseph had, with gnarled, sharp fingers, clawing away anyway who dared to try to grab a piece. Everyone, even Joseph, had known that they would scramble for each other’s demesne once one of them fell. She had been through long nights of calculations and had concluded that she could continue her life under either of them - continue to love and learn, continue to sneak and spy, continue to mend what they would undoubtedly break. She had looked for omens in the sky, tried to read warnings in the flights of birds or see the future in the flicking candle flames. When augury failed, she went back to her plans, working with her ladies in waiting on new ways to pass out charity and soften the iron fist of the kingdom.

But behind those well-thought out options was a burning rage, smoldering until finally Angharad had decided. Under Joseph one night, she had steeled herself, pushing away every thought and feeling until one one had remained: no, she would not marry again. She never allow herself to be bound to a man again.

A rap on her chamber door scattered those dark thoughts. When Angharad answered, heavy steps resounded into her room.

Furiosa, the dark knight and leader of Joseph’s guards. Even before Furiosa removed her helmet, Angharad recognized her lover. No one had ever suspected that they could fall in love; no one had ever suspected that Furiosa’s heart beat as hotly as Angharad’s. 

“Where is your gaggle?”

Furiosa’s teasing tone made Angharad smile, though she also shook her head. Her ladies-in-waiting were usually within ear-shot, if not literally at her sides. “They aren’t little birds. They’re in awe of you; and indeed, I think Toast idolizes you. I sent them away.” She sat down at her dressing table and picked up a brush from the collection of services there. “I’m surprised you didn’t notice.”

“I did,” Furiosa admitted. Nothing went unnoticed by the captain of Joseph’s elite forces. “But I didn’t understand.”

“This is a dangerous time. I didn’t want them caught up in whatever war breaks out.” The words came out heavy, sharper than she had intended. She didn’t need to dissemble anymore, she reminded herself. So she sighed and leaned forward, head in her smooth hands. “You’ll think it’s foolish, I know. But I didn’t want them to be swept up in whatever happens.”

“It’s my duty to protect you,” Furiosa said. Her hand, free of its heavy glove, rested warm on Angharad’s shoulder. There was wryness there - Furiosa was no simple soldier.

“And hopefully more,” Angharad replied. A little bit of teasing - a bit of levity in the midst of so many pressures. But the two of them had always had to make their own moments, grown carefully in between the harsh events of their lives. Her hair, long and free, tangled in tendrils around her earrings and the jewels that draped over the pale flesh of her throat. Furiosa’s fingers stroked at the sensitive skin there, her pensive expression changing, opening, for Angharad to see the beauty there.

The firm lines of Furiosa’s face, mouth, had seemed frozen in place the first time Angharad had met the knight. But now she knew how soft those lips could be, how her steely eyes could melt into pools. IN some ways more guarded that Joseph had been, her secrets hidden underneath the layers of her armor. But Angharad had never feared Furiosa. Neer hated. There had been a time when she distrusted the older woman, but everything had changed. Everything was different. Love had come slowly, a gradual sunrise whose light had reached every corner, illuminated every one of the once-dark crevices. 

Angharad tilted her head and Furiosa understood instantly. Or perhaps she was moving down on her own accord, her desires matching Angharad's. The kiss started gentle, deepened as Angharad opened her mouth. Furiosa’s movements were certain - not aggressive, not commanding, but sure, strong. And as always Angharad responded with her own passion. Maybe she was the demanding one, reaching up to cup Furiosa’s face. Her jaw was square and solid, her skin warm like a fire was spreading in her veins. Unlike with Joseph, damn his dead soul, Angharad grew soft. Teach me show me come with me, her heart beat and Furiosa pressed harder against her. 

The knight was still in her armor so when Angharad rose and crashed against her, the cool metal crushed the velvet of her dress.That didn’t dampen her ardor; Angharad moved her hands over the breastplate, the shoulder guards. So strong, so firm, a sword and a shield all in one. That was what Angharad wanted. This was who Angharad wanted - Not a diseased old man hiding in a charade of strength. Maybe no man at all. With her stomach straining her dress, she couldn’t get as close to Furiosa as she wanted - another strike against men. 

Furiosa’s arms surrounded her, hands on her shoulders, fingers pushing down the hem of Angharad’s dress and the chain of baubles. It was when she was naked that Angharad felt more like herself, naked of everything but wet hot desire, almost elemental in the fury of that. Joseph would have called it witchcraft - they all deemed it that, something forbidden and shameful, none of the men coming close to understanding but all of them afraid. Not Furiosa - who glowed more than the gems that she was now pushing aside.

Brilliant bold brave - with all of her training, Angharad had words for every part, every inch of Furiosa. She thought them now, one for each hungry, heady, heavy kiss. Angharad reach up to brush her hands over the short scruff of Furiosa’s hair.

“You could let it grow,” she murmured against Furiosa’s lips.

“Not very practical,” came the raspy response.

Angharad laughed. “Practicality is not law, my Furiosa. And even if it were, what are we if not law breakers?”

“Said with such pride.”

“Unjust laws are prisons,” Angharad replied. She frowned but then swallowed back that old argument. They were on the precipice of change; Furiosa didn’t need to be lectured about that. At least not now, with the coronation so close. Looking at her lover, Angharad softened. More than anyone else she’d ever met, Angharad wanted Furiosa. Needed. There had to be a word, something that captured admiration and desire in one. Or a song, articulated by a worldly bard. If she hadn’t sent Capable away, Angharad would have gone to her, leaned on the strong shoulder, and listened to Capable’s voice as she sang the old ballads. With Joseph gone, they could learn more of them, share more of them, sing them in the courtyard instead of in hushed voices in private rooms. 

She could trace her fingers over Furiosa’s firm back, following the scars like she could smooth them away with a touch. Her lips would press there against Furiosa’s flat stomach and bulging shoulders, moving across the curve of her breasts as her mouth slipped up her body. When Furiosa smiled it was like a gift, and her mouth moving in pleasure was a treasure rarer and more valuable than even pearls.

Angharad smiled as she suggested, “Or perhaps I should cut my hair, then?”

Furiosa made a low noise of consideration. “Your husband -”

“I will have no husband,” Angharad interrupted. She pulled back, her kiss-swollen lips in a frown. “I’ve told you, Furiosa, I will no longer -”

“Idealism isn’t going to run a country.”

“I won’t let cruelty run it at all!” she snapped. She stood up, the long trails of her gown swishing and then pooling around her feet. The susurration of it was like the hushed whispers of the court, a sound so quiet that it could fade into the background and be ignored as silence. 

“I know you won’t.” Furiosa’s brilliant eyes surveyed her. “You’ll be ten thousand Josephs.”

With her shoulders straight and back and her chin tilted, Furiosa looked the part of the diligent knight, faithful and true. The comment was clearly a compliment, but it struck Angharad almost painfully. Ten thousand Josephs… Was that her destiny? She grabbed her lover’s arms. “No. I won’t rule if it makes me into him. I’ll leave here. I’ll die first.”

“Die?” Furiosa echoed in surprise. “You won’t. Can’t. Angharad - Think about this. You’ll what, run? To where? With who?”

“You,” Angharad said and gripped Furiosa even tighter. “What if we left this behind? We could start a new life… in the forest, the mountains… I don’t know. Get on a ship, sail to the horizon.”

Cheedo was the one with dreams, Dag was the one with fantasies - Angharad had always created plans, had always worked toward goals. This… This was a wild flight but Angharad’s energy rose in response, her whole being ready for this dream. 

“Angharad -” Furiosa began. She stopped herself and Angharad could see the change in Furiosa’s pose and expression. She was considering it, giving Angharad’s words weight and value. “Just run? Like criminals?”

“It’s not just running away - It’s running forward. Toward a new future. A new life! We can be together, Furiosa. I love you, I love you. And I want to love you in a place where I don’t need to hide it!”

“You in peasant’s clothes?” Furiosa’s lips quirked up. “Leaves in your hair instead of jewels.”

“And you with a walking stick instead of a sword. We can be farmers or weavers or run an inn. Or sailors or fishing-women or whatever we want. You weren’t always a knight, Furiosa, and I wasn’t always a queen.”

“You’d love a farmer, would you?” Furiosa’s teasing had grown soft, but her smile was still there.

“I’d love you no matter who you were. Or where we are.”

She could feel the tension in her lover’s frame. She knew that the idea of running - fleeing - went against the warrior’s conditioning. But desperation kept Angharad from a compromise. They clung together in a troubled silence until the child in Angharad’s womb moved and she stepped away to sit back into her chair. The thing was took after its father, already demanding her time, her thoughts, so much from her body. Furious, she grabbed the small jeweled knife from her table and raised it high into the air. Quicker than her was Furiosa, whose strong hand caught Angharad’s wrist.

“I know,” Angharad said as she looked up into Furiosa’s stark face. “I won’t. But hear me, Furiosa - I will not suffer another husband. Please, think on what I’ve said: let us be together.”

Furiosa nodded her response and then bowed low, respectfully. When she left, Angharad threw the knife onto the bed and then move to sand at the window where she remained as the sun slipped away and night overcame the last bit of light. She had peace for now, but as the coronation grew ever closer, so would that overcome her life.


	2. Chapter 2

The grand hall was a building in and of itself. Expanded to new glorious heights by Joseph’s demands, the room was longer, larger than any other in the castle or the city itself. The high ceilings were a wonder, soaring up to near impossible heights, seemingly held aloft only by Joseph’s decree. That was the boasted explanation, though through the help of her handmaid Toast, Angharad had learned about the true mechanics of the architecture. Still a spectacle, it had lost nothing from the lesson. In fact, the hard work and ingenuity of the builders had made her appreciate it all the more. The cost, however, the knowledge of that hadn’t surprised her and yet also soured her experience. Bigger, brighter, bolder, to literally lord it above his subjects. And the decorations - Joseph had filled the walls with heads of the hunted: boards, lions, stags, wolves, animals that had been captured and killed through manpower. A slaughter that Joseph captured for perpetuity, displayed with pride to awe or horrify his guests.

They had never impressed Angharad or any of her ladies-in-waiting. Disgusted, yes. Dismayed. 

But she would ever have to see them again.

More tapestries also hung over the thick wood walls; more scenes of violence. These were even imposing than those in the chambers: longer than a man was tall, yards and yards of silken threads that were shot with silver and gold to capture Joseph’s splendid likeness. And he appeared in every one; the figure larger than the soldiers or animals around him, and engaged in feats that were impossible in reality, even when he had been a younger man and not the wheezing facade of a ruler. 

The hall was filled with people: gawkers and gossipers, minor lords and ladies, the wealthiest merchants and the greatest warriors. They could not all fall silent when the doors opened for her entry, but a hush spread across them, wide mouths still open to gasp. 

And cheer.

The doors were carved with dragons, fantastical creatures that curled around and then pointed their fearsome maws down at her like they were spectators too.Through them she moved gracefully despite her pregnancy, despite her heavy furs and golden chains. The morning had been spent with the onerous work of preparing her and without her ladies in waiting, the complicated tasks had fallen on other women less knowledgeable about Angharad’s habits. Her gown included a mantle of the purest white to emphasize the illusion of her flawlessness. Her scars had been covered with cosmetics or hidden behind the thick coils of her hair, draped artfully down to her high cheekbones. Lace in a froth streamed behind her and spilled out from her sleeves, catching occasionally on the heavy rings that surrounded her fingers.But it had worked, they had worked - Not just women now, but friends with names. And each had left the room with a jewel pried out of Angharad’s most lustrous necklace and coins to sew into the hems of their dresses. She had ensured that they could leave, even if she could not.

It was alone that she began her long walk. The two rows of guests and staff and onlookers were held back by the guards. Angharad allowed her gaze to move over them, and then began turning her head away from the throne and the ceremony in front of her to look at each guard, one at a time, her eyes meeting theirs. “Thank you,” she said to each of them as she glided past them. “Thank you for being here. Thank you for your service. Thank you for your protection.”

Most said nothing. One, a young man, ducked his head. Another smiled. Another said quickly back, “Love live the queen!” before the man beside him hissed for silence.

No queen. Fed well and plumped up, she was intended to be a lamb on her way to slaughter. Angharad straightened, lifted her chin, walked as though she were the honored knight.

As if she were Furiosa.

There was no point in hoping Furiosa would take her away from it all. She could see her beloved resplendent in her finest armor, standing tall and proud with the other dignitaries by the throne. Each step brought Angharad closer to Furiosa, each step forced them further apart. Like the banners torn apart by the wind and birds, Angharad felt the strands of herself loosen, slip away. Perhaps her fate was the path in front of her: to be married again, under a man, the crown on her head another burden for her. From childhood she had been groomed for such a life: beautiful and intelligent enough and regal no matter what the situation, a bearing that served her now as she continued to step forward.

But slowly. She nodded at the women in their own expensive gowns, even stepped from her path long enough to catch an outstretched hand. More noise at that, a cheer and the accompanying twitter from the dignitaries. 

Again the desperate urge to flee roiled through her. Her strong knight could whisk her free. They could run so fast, so far that the castle would be a mere memory, one that disappeared into the past like a fading dream. Anger was stoked by that wish - Why couldn’t she go? She was the most powerful person in the room, was she not? The crown would be placed on her head. She should be able to fling it down, smash it under her feet.

At the end of the carpet was a dais. Angharad put out her hand and Furiosa moved faster than the lords to take it, to help her up the final step. Their eyes met and in that look Angharad could see all of Furiosa, the woman who had become the stoic knight. 

When Joseph’s crown was placed on her shining head, it wasn’t as heavy as Angharad had expected. It still pushed down the careful curls of her hair, the hours of braiding and stringing in beads rendered moot by the weight of the metal on her brow. Angharad hands curled into fists at her side. As though that had been a signal, the two lords vying for crown and country appeared, each taking one of her hands into theirs. With the merchant guild backing him, the lord of the farmland had expanses of wealth and land. If she married him and brought their lands together… Or perhaps the lord of the warlike tribes, with an army that made the land tremble. With her beside him, they could conquer everything…

In that instant, she knew what she had to do. She would protect her home and the people within it. With a deep breath she silently called for support from her friends and her lover too, who radiated like the sun so close that Angharad would almost swear to feeling her warm touch.

“I will surrender this crown to no man,” Angharad’s proclamation rang down the hall.

“You can’t rule on your own!”

“A woman ruling -”

“I will rule,” her voice boomed over the dissenters. 

“Angharad,” the lord of the farmland said placatingly. “Be reasonable! Joseph, rest his soul, would never want you alone, entrusted to no one…”

A point, however invalid. But Angharad knew how to silence that as well.

“I will not rule on my own,” she said over his complaints. Angharad turned away from them, away from the crowd, toward the soldiers who were still standing guard. If Furiosa couldn’t come after her, then she would be the one to rescue her lover.

As soon as she stretched out her hand, the lord of the warlike tribes jerked forward, his gloved hand on the wicked sword at his hip. The guards were just as fast and with echoing clangs of metal - blades smacking armor, boots on the marble tile - with Furiosa at her side to protect her. As Angharad stepped back, the crown slid down her forehead, and with another one of her quick movements, Furiosa pulled off her glove and her warm hand was on Angharad’s face, fingers righting the crown.

“I would have you at my side, my knight,” Angharad said as Furiosa came to stand at her side.

“Yes, my queen.”

“Not just as a queen,” Angharad began and Furiosa took off her helmet so Angharad could see the brightness of her eyes.

“And not just as a knight.”

And perhaps not with a crown; it and the other riches melted down and pressed into coin. 

When her ladies in waiting returned, they came with a far larger party than they had left with. Women from the countryside joined in with the ladies of the city. More people and then soldiers from Furiosa’s squadron joined Angharad as she began a new tradition of walking outside the castle’s gates. Treaties could be written instead of battles challenged, lands cultivated instead of stolen, books written and shared, turning the castle into a library. 

“My queen,” Angharad said and bestowed the title with a kiss on Furiosa’s smiling mouth.


End file.
